


Lílium

by boy_with_the_glasses



Category: Persona 5, Persona Q2: New Cinema Labyrinth
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other, Regaining Memories, Time Travel, based on Goro's wish to remember, makoharu if you squint - Freeform, no one really forgets Q2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23682457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boy_with_the_glasses/pseuds/boy_with_the_glasses
Summary: One by one, they remember.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 210





	1. Fox & Oracle

**Author's Note:**

> It is less Q2 and more Time Travel honestly.

There is a sketchbook full of beautiful illustrations Yusuke doesn’t remember painting. 

It is undeniable his, yet mesmerizing in a way he doesn't believe his current level of skills is able to recapture. There are people he has never met in his life, portrayed in what he can only assume their natural environment, which usually demands a painter blend into the daily routine of the models. These are shots he has trouble imagining on his own, for he hasn’t found someone to establish such connections and start learning through observation. 

Yusuke is in a slump, and he visions his inspiration to come on him as a roaring dragon, to be spirited away by it to the heights unimaginable, where hands are guided by art itself and a brush dances on a canvas. 

His dreams and thoughts alight with masterpieces equal to Sayri, and he craves skills needed to rival its mastership. 

But the paintings in a mysterious sketchbook are... mundane. They portray simple, common things and aren’t supposed to strike a chord. Such beliefs are shattered to pitiful pieces, because Yusuke’s soul sings and shines with each following page, and unfamiliar warmth fills him, a euphoria comparable to the most delicious dish he had ever tasted. 

Yusuke counts the models, and there are seven teens, his peers judging by the looks, constantly present on sketches. And one cat he isn’t sure why is he counting too, but without it, art breaks and collapses and he has to be mindful of the strength he holds the sketchbook with.

The paintings are seemed to be taken from different places yet little tellings help him to outline the most common ones. There are repetitive items on the background he took notice in. 

All eight of the models, cat included, favor a small room partly serving as storage - perhaps an attic of some sort. There is a boy with curly hair sitting at a table and bending above it, deftly crafting some sort of a tool Yusuke has no knowledge of. The boy isn’t portrayed alone, there is another one staying behind him, whose features are soft and attractive, stance relaxed and expression set in morbid curiosity. Near this sketch is one more, this time it is a girl sprawled on the bedside, legs dangling from the edge. She is absorbed with her laptop, but it is a relaxing activity considering the light strokes used to paint her. 

The next page greets him with a new boy and a girl, their grins blinding like two small suns. A cat sits on the girl’s laps, and Yusuke is struck with the urge to take a brush and add a blue color to the cat’s eyes. 

He finds a picture of himself, outline drafted rough and clearly by memory, and traces the edges with his fingers. He catches the moment when someone gave him a suitable reference and where he corrected his initial mistakes. 

There is a scrawling note made not by his hand.

Baka-Inari. 

It is nothing like Sensei’s handwriting either, and he wonders if allowing his sketchbook into other’s hands is a good way to obtain a new perspective. 

There are another two girls left, and Yusuke finds those are often painted together. He lacks names to put to faces and it frustrates him. Those girls pictured in an attic too, tasting tea from porcelain cups and softly smiling to each other. 

Unexpected cold cripples Yusuke’s perception. He is betrayed by his fingers which tremble in a forgotten habit he has devotedly chased away with unrelenting practice years ago. From them, the sketchbook slims on the floor. Yusuke clutches his chest, his insides burning with suffocating loneliness. Suddenly he can’t stand the shack he is in, and he feverishly stumbles out of his room and out of the house. It feels akin to escaping a beast’s toothy maw. The world blurs on the sidelines, wooden walled structure morphing into marble stronghold labeled a museum. 

The road under Yusuke’s feet covers in ice and a weight settles over his face. He sees someone who looks just like him except for the piercing, inhumanly yellow eyes. 

It takes his breath away. 

“Yusuke-kun!”

Someone shakes him by the shoulders. Yusuke blinks and Madarame’s face comes into focus. 

“Are you alright?” The man asks, worry lacing his words.

Yusuke can’t find relief in it. He opens his mouth, ends up taking a breath to steady himself, and gets back on his feet.

“Yes, I apologize.”

The colors of the world his mind should be able to perceive are muted, and Yusuke fails to express proper respect through his tone. Freezing edge takes its place, raw detachment he hasn’t known he had in him. The man before him causes conflicting feelings he fears and welcomes all at once.

“Were you drawing outside?” Madarame points somewhere below and Yusuke notices the sketchbook in his hands. 

“Yes. It seems I was careless and fatigue overcame me.” Yusuke Covers the sketchbook, a clear sign he doesn’t intend on showing it. The painting there, as mysterious as they are, are sacred beyond words he can summon to describe them. 

“Goodness, don’t scare me like that, boy. I am not so young anymore.” Madarame chuckles. There is not any maliciousness in him, and yet a feeling of sadness does not let Yusuke go. Anger is present too, muted and old, mostly cured by whoever helped to hash it. 

“Yes, I promise to be more observant from now on.” Yusuke nods and strides past Madarame back to the shack. It is stifling now, he notes. He takes his supplies and heads back out. 

Madarame is in the hall. 

“Leaving again already? You almost fainted, isn’t it better to take a break for now?”

“No, I believe I have found my inspiration and can not deny my canvas any longer. Now excuse me, but I should meet my muse.”

* * *

Futaba can just make out Sojiro’s feet from where he’s sleep-watching TV in the common room when her brain finally catches up with her body and she scrambles back up the stairs and into her room, crushing into something on her way - and ouch she doesn’t have her armor on and it totally crippled her HP - and the sound of it meeting a floor follows her through the closed door. 

“Futaba?!” 

Of course, she wakes Sojiro up with all the noise she has made and he stomps through her way of destruction to knock on her lair’s door.

She wants to demand a dragon to her lair. 

“Futaba, is everything alright?!”

She sits with her back leaned on the door. She doesn’t feel like crawling away from it in her usual fit of panic and probably self-reflect and wow doesn’t it feel like someone did cast Cure on her and took down the nasties disease she has ever suffered from?

“Yeah.” 

No. 

“Yeah, it totally is.”

Totally no. 

Futaba tries to process the very unlike her implication that she wants to let Sojiro in, dangle from his neck aka whiny little child and demand him make carry right there and then. She feels incredibly stupid for denying him entry all thus time and wow isn't that a rational thought right there and yep she can feel her dark mood returning and there are shadows advancing on her from the corners, blaming her, screaming at her and she lifts her hands to uselessly clamp them on her ears. 

Except no, she doesn’t, because no, they don’t. 

There are no shadows of her relatives, though she hears a faint echo of nasty words thrown at her from somewhere very, very far away.

She hears someone blaming her for the death of her mother, sticking a suicide note into her face. Except no, it isn’t Mom’s suicide note, because Futaba is smart and calls it bullshit. 

Her intellect and observation skills are maxed out, she won’t fall for this stupid lie. 

Futaba blinks. 

But she kind of did? 

Her room is a mess she ain’t ready to deal with, so she kicks every garbage bag out of the way and plops back into her seat. She freezes, expecting voices to come on her, but they... don’t? 

She can’t even say for what they will come for because she isn’t alone anymore and has an awesome brother and a whole team to kick butts. 

...Now, wait a fucking minute, a _brother_?!

“Sojiro!”

Futaba slams the door open and startles Sojiro so badly he jumps half a meter in the air and almost goes down the stairs face-first. 

“Wha?..”

“I have a brother! No, no, no, wait, wrong intonation. Do I have a brother!!! Urgh, you can’t hear it but there is a question mark!”

There is no response forthcoming. Sojiro is simply staring at her as if she has grown a second head. Or a tail.

She turns to check herself for a tail just to be safe and it is then Futaba realizes she is out of her room for the first in months while Sojiro is present at home.

Sojiro.exe has stopped responding because he is in shock.

She is in shock now too. 

She shuts the door back and her knees buckle. 

Her own Futaba.exe has too stopped responding. 

Sojiro’s reboot capabilities are definitely better than hers even though she is the one supposed to be a software genius here. He coughs and knocks on her door in what she can only call awkward desperation. 

“Want me to make dinner?”

Yes. No. Probably? Her priorities jump like wonderland’s bunnies in the middle of the March and it comes from a person who writes detailed and coherent guides for hardcore games. 

“Futaba?”

She hugs her knees close to her chest and sniffles in them. She is emotionally overloaded. There are too much and all at once. It differs from the games' experiences drastically and she wants to hug Mona and bury her nose in his fur. 

Futaba doesn’t know who Mona is and it rips a broken sob from her because she wants to. Because suddenly there are phantoms in her mind, real people with whom she wants to be, who are associated with safety. 

She is suddenly robbed of her guilt and angry voices are gone with it. She is left with a ringing silence she doesn’t feel comfortable staying in. An absence of a guidance hand she has grown accustomed to drives her to tears. 

Futaba shakily stands up and turns the handle of the door. Sojiro is very nice, he doesn’t push it until she uncertainty opens it herself. 

“Can you make me a carry?”

Sojiro’s kindness is equal to an infinity sign. He doesn’t hurry her when she painstakingly slowly takes the stairs, one step at a time, armies crushing and trumping inside her skull. Futaba is sure she is doing it for the first time in a long time, yet her mind tells her she is wrong and left her room a thousand times before. 

It even prompts her to run out of the house to... somewhere. She eyes the front door and steadily tells it not today.

There is a strange silhouette beside it, yellow-eyed and as short as she is. Sojiro walks into the kitchen as if he doesn’t see it, and Futaba lifts hands to her eyes and is met with goggles on it. She panics for a length of a second until something touches her skin. She would have screamed if not for the familiarity of the touch. 

Futaba turns around and glimpses a strange green object right above her head just as it disappears. 

...It was a UFO, wasn’t it? 

She just saw a bloody UFO, didn’t she?!

Futaba reaches the kitchen with a speed of a turtle. Sojiro is near the stove, and she sees a pot stewing. She carefully locates herself on a stool and watches him cooking. 

She is shaking and twitching and fumbling with her hands. She is highly uncomfortable but tries to push through it. There is a voice telling her she can and she wants to believe it. 

Sojiro doesn’t push her for answers though there are awkward attempts to bring up a neutral topic for conversation. Neutral is a tricky word because he definitely doesn’t know if she even follows news channels and they both won’t speak of school and everything associated with it. 

There is bare hope in her guardian’s eyes and she doesn’t want to disappoint him anymore. 

They finish the dinner in silence but it is progress for both of them. Futaba stammers and tries to come up with proper gratitude, doesn’t manage it and throttles back into her room under the noise of water and clunking dishes. 

Then Futaba finds her phone. And she would have totally remembered if she had that many contacts. 

She doesn’t recognize more than half of them but the ones she does utterly stupefy her. 

Mitsuru Kirijo. Kirijo like is in “Kirijo Group” Kirijo? Isn’t a gigantic badass company named after its founder? Wait, is it a personal contact of the company’s owner in her phone?! What? How?! She doesn’t remember hacking it, most of all because Kirijo’s files are protected with some wicked software!

Yukari Takeba. Futaba knows only one Yukari Takeba, pink ranger Yukari Takeba from Feathermen, because of course, she reads who plays characters she is crazy for. There is an inner fangirl that prompts her to open the text app window and almost type some sort of message she would surely regret later on. She overpowers herself and scrolls further. 

Naoto Shirogane. And isn’t it strange Futaba has a famous Detective Prince’s number on her phone when she was never interested in the police force and anything connected to it after... after her Mom... after the incident. And digging first Detective Prince’s number would have required it.

Speaking of the first and second... 

Goro Akechi is there too and his name at least feels real because him? Him she sees on the News often enough, even regards him with attention when he starts going on about the Phantom Thieves and wow she doesn’t really need search info on them anymore, does she?

Futaba almost drops her phone when she reads the next name. 

Kujikawa Rise. 

“RISETTE?!”

Futaba has an idol’s private number right there. And it is private, she checks immediately. Agency never put their idols’ numbers up - it would be disastrous, - and all Rise’s social pages are too devoid of anything that could point out where to find her outside TV appearances and how to contact her directly. Even Futaba’s abilities wouldn’t have helped her to get Risette number with that level of caution. 

If other names too belong to some supernaturally popular and important people Futaba won’t be ever surprised. 

And yet she is surprised, however, to see a very, very familiar name on the list. She cares for Sojiro immensely so sure she did a background check on a kid he has taken in. 

Akira Kurusu. 

And she wants to know why he is there too. 

Why all of those numbers are, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never get over how Crow literally didn't want to leave the theater because he didn't want to forget everything that has happened. Because he didn't want to follow his plan anymore.
> 
> I also headcanon that Nagi took an especial liking to Hikari, and it was the only reason why did she even allow the PT and the other teams inside and didn't kick them out from the beginning. So when Hikari asks Nagi to let at least one team have their memories... Enlil complies.


	2. Joker, Panther, Skull & Mona

“We won’t remember it, are we?”

He barely catches the words before he’s shoved with his back to the wall, and there are lips, demanding and greedy, covering his in a desperate kiss. It isn’t how he imagined it to happen; the kiss is raw, open, aggressive, and he’s immediately drunk on it. He is shoved again a moment later, pushed away despite the needy sigh and a jerking movement to lean back, anything to not make it end. 

He is met with a smile, teeth bared in a snarl.

“You are fucking insufferable, Kurusu.”

The amber eyes are flaring openly with emotions he has only glimpsed before, and his need to regain the contact grows tenfold. But there is a storm in them he is not keen on seeing: badly contained longing, sadness, frustration, shattered hope. Resignation mixed with the heartbroken desire. 

“You’re a bloody idiot. You saw it, didn’t you? You saw and you didn’t tell a word.”

What did he saw, he can’t remember. The world is falling apart, and the theater they stay in crumbles with it. Their friends - his team - have gone ahead, and they are about to follow. 

He doesn’t want to. Not now, not when he’s got to see it, not when Crow’s mask has finally fallen apart and the look he sees is raw and unprotected and he loves every second of it. He clings to other’s hands even as their forms fade, being dragged back to the reality they belong to. 

He feels hot breath on his lips, and he expects another act of closeness - leans into it - instead he is pushed back again and he knows he has almost disappeared. He throws a desperate look at the one who pushed him and his heart breaks. 

“Get back to your merry band, Joker.” Don’t give him that look, don’t distance them, don’t... “At least, spend some time with them before it all ends.”

* * *

Ann smacks him with a ruler on their second break. Akira supposes it is rightfully deserved smack and takes it with dignity, almost dramatically falling on the floor in the process. She tuts on him. “One chalk was not enough for you?”

His forehead is probably incriminatingly white on the outside and red on the inside, since the pale weapon of death hit him square in the middle. There are bits of chalk on his desk too. He stolidly puts his hands right over them and lowers his head back. He ignores Ann’s disappointing pout. 

Morgana chooses it as an opportunity to stick his whiskers out of the desk. “He didn’t sleep well. Rolled over all night long. Didn’t calm down even after I climbed on top of him. Aren’t cats supposed to help humans sleep?”

“Aren’t you not a cat?” Ann can’t poke Morgana with her ruler so she opts to poke Akira’s head instead. It is slightly better than being smacked with it.

“Well, I’m not!” Morgana protests a tad too loudly, and Akira has to break his imaginary hand-made pillow and push Morgana’s snout back into the desk. He gets bitten for his efforts. “Shouldn’t it work if I simply look like one?”

“I dunno, maybe you just didn’t purr loud enough!” Akira misses the moment Ryuji enters the classroom and steals someone’s chair to plop down near his and Ann’s desks, grinning at offended Morgana. Grabby hands soon join the ruler in violating Akira’s hair. Akira is at least slightly grateful to Ryuji for dusting off the remaining chalk from his forehead. “Woah, you’re really out of it, man.”

“He is like this from the very morning.” Ann points out with a sigh, unable to gauge a reaction and finally putting the cursed ruler aside.

“You should have skipped school and slept it off. I kinda did it myself after we beat the shit out of Kamoshida.”

“Can’t skip. Bad for image.” Akira grumbles, burrowing his nose deeper into his elbow. He’s got into plenty of trouble on his first day when he and Ryuji ended up walking into Metaverse by an accident and coincidentally skipped half of the classes. Sojiro would kick him out the next time it happens, even though the man happens to be in a frighteningly good mood for the last several days. Maybe he’s won a lottery or something. It won’t save Akira anyway. 

“W-well, I tried to get you to sleep earlier!” Morgana’s defensive remark sounds more like a badly hidden concern, the claims of joining them only for profit clearly forgotten. He doesn’t even seem to mind Ryuji’s nonchalant attitude and cat jokes as much as before. And Akira too feels strangely comfortable cracking them twice in a row. “How are we even going to go down into Mementos if you’re half asleep?”

“In his defense, he did try to catch some sleep during the class.” Ann muses a bit absentmindedly, inclining her head towards the teacher’s desk. “Until the chalk.”

“How the heck is sleeping in the class is better for your image than skipping it?”

“No homecalls.”

“Dude, Boss ain’t gonna kick ya out for that. Maybe puts on the dishwashing or something. I can come up with some excuse for him. Like, how about we’d studied all night and you overslept?”

Akira has two seconds to wonder when did Ryuji met Sojiro and befriended the grumpy master of uncalled jabs till Ann makes a disbelieving noise. “Studied? You?” 

“What?” Ryuji huffs without real offense, though he has clearly lost the enthusiasm over the idea. “I can be studios.”

“Only when it comes down to sport or how much ramen you can eat.”

Ryuji more likely makes a face at that and prepares a comeback. Instead what follows is a gasp and a ruffle of clothes. “Damn, that reminds me. I’ve found a cool thing yesterday. Here, check this out!”

The sentence is interesting enough to warrant Akira’s attention. He lifts his head and catches Ryuji handing Ann a crumpled sheet of paper, which has been definitely stored in his pants till now. Ann doesn’t bother to straighten it. She is clearly surprised by whatever is written on the sheet though. “I’m not an expert, but it looks very professional. Did you do it?”

“Nah, as if I can.” Ryuji promptly waves her off. “I know how to do decent workouts, but more serious stuff was always handled by our couch. Former couch now I guess.” He sours, yet quickly gets back on track. “I think one of the guys from the gym made it for me. Don’t feel like I thanked him though, don’t even remember how he looked like. Bet it was during the Kamoshida’s castle bullshit, that’s why I forgot.”

“It is signed though.” Akira bumps in. Ann, bless her soul, angles the sheet to him so he too could see its content.

“Yeah, but how much help is that? I still can’t remember this “Akihiko” guy.” It is clear as day Ryuji is frustrated, and Akira can understand why. He isn’t an expert, same as Ann, but he has attended gymnastics in middle school, and making a difference between good and bad workout recommendations is a skill that has stayed with him. “I want to thank him, damn it. He even considered my leg.”

“You can ask around the gym. Maybe someone knows him.” Ann suggests, and it seems like an obvious answer. Except Ryuji doesn’t lighten up, scratching his head and mumbling something under the breath. “What is it?”

“I said of course I’m gonna ask! It’s just, you see... Argh, I don’t know! I think it’s stupidly wrong to forget that. That it’s super important and here I am can’t even remember speaking with the guy!”

Ann is contemplatively silent at that. She plays with her pigtail, twirls it around her finger. “You know... Before visiting Shiho, I always buy crepes for myself and her. It’s silly of course, she hasn’t even woke up yet, but it makes me feel better. However yesterday, on my way to her, I’ve bought three crepes instead of two.”

Ryuji gives her a deadly serious look. “Ann, I don’t want to disappoint you, but it was probably your inner glutton and nothing more.”

She bristles not unlike a cat. “It wasn’t! Geez, I’m trying to be serious here! The last crepe had very specific topping. Neither I nor Shiho like it. I thought maybe I took one for you guys, but I wouldn’t have spent money on Ryuji...“

“Hey!”

“...and I believe I don’t know what kind of crepes Akira likes?”

“Welp maybe he doesn’t!”

Akira is true doesn’t. Isn’t much of a sweet tooth, as Ryuji fiercely implies, though he won’t say no to a friendly - and therefore free - treat. What bugs him, is that while he is yet to try local crepes, he surprisingly knows where the shop stand is located. 

“I’d go with chocolate,” Akira informs, though he doubts the crepe was bought for him anyway. Ryuji may be right on this one - Ann’s love for sweet stuff is as deep as an ocean floor. 

It cascades into Morgana’s hopeful outcry that the crepe was bought by Lady Ann for him, in Ryuji doubting if cats even allowed to eat sweets, to Ann giving Morgana a calming pat on the head and promising to treat him one day. They collectively forget they are in the classroom, and the other students give them a wide berth. Only Mishima is staring, hand froze over the notebook Akira often sees during their meetings, although they’ve met only once or twice. 

As long as no one calls the teacher and rattles Morgana out, Akira is willing to appreciate his reputation as a terrifying transfer student. 

At the end of the classes, Morgana gets into Akira’s face from his shoulder, which is much closer than the cat can manage from under the desk. “I know you are sleepy, but how about we strike Mementos today?”

Akira shrugs and picks up Ann and Ryuji on the way to the station. It is a familiar route up until they actually reach the place where they supposedly meet up for every dive in. They probably make a very awkward bunch of teenagers, lingering at the station entrance and exchanging unsure glances.

Akira is glad he is not the only one who feels unexpectedly lost. 

“So, I didn’ want to brin’ it up and all, but, what is this Mementos thing?”

Akira wants to roll his eyes on Ryuji antics because the joke is too bad to even voice it. He doesn’t, instead struggling to recollect what Mementos is himself, despite the seemingly obvious answer. 

Morgana jumps out of the bag and on the concrete. He is about to say something, perhaps chastise Ryuji in Ann’s or Akira’s stead. Barb him or joke or get sweet little revenge for yet another cat reference. Instead, their guide laps in uncomfortable silence, and it becomes stupider by the second. Akira can’t understand why and over what they are unitedly stumped, uselessly looking for words that aren’t there, until Ann chews on her lip and tentatively offers. “Isn’t that what Morgana wanted to show us?”

And Morgana lights up like a Christmas Tree, agreeing and mentoring the group on how not just every Shadow has a Palace, how under Tokyo lies a maze of endless halls and rail tracks, how Mishima’s website is there to help them scout targets and do small deeds of help between bigger targets. He leads them onto the other side and down the stairs, where Akira spies the familiar blue glow of a door leading to The Velvet Room, where Justine greets him with a polite nod and uncharacteristic smile gracing her features. 

Morgana transforms into a bus with less boasting than Akira remembers - and if his mind implies he has seen a real cat transforming into a bus he wants to have a chat with it - and the team’s surprise is as quiet as Joker’s composure. He wonders if his reserved self is a bad influence on them, but they are as loud as he usual during the ride, even actively cussing him for his wild driving skills. They almost - almost - smack into a wall, and Akira really wants to put someone else at a wheel. Unfortunately, his choice is either Ann or Ryuji, and somehow the lack of more options offends him, of all things. 

Arsène is strangely uncooperative. There is a constant stretch at his mind as if someone stuffed additional garbage in there, and Akira forgot to take it out. The Master Thief consistency turns down attempts to summon him, which is a reason to become very concerned, and Akira, as a result, is extremely restless for the rest of the trip. He doesn’t stop trying, banging at the closed door, but all he gets is strained silence and tension he has never before felt in his mind. 

He is adaptable, at least. He calls others, and they fill in for Arsène, covering his teammates' weaknesses and holes in formation. Despite his best efforts, his friends' best efforts, the fights are disorganized at best and downright disastrous at worst. Oh, not in the sense that they lose or have to take breaks after each scuffle, but in the sense that one blow is enough to put any Shadow in their way out of commission. 

And Akira’s unique skillset, for once, has nothing to do with that. 

The unnaturally thoughtful Skull with strained optimism suggests their unexpected increase in strength comes from the ordeals they overcome at Kamoshida's Palace. He clearly loses confidence in it when Captain Kidd's next lightning literally disintegrates the Shadows, and Akira decides, to hell with the barely tangible excitement of discovering Mementos, cut it and get out, because he still can't get a hold of Arsene and maybe he shouldn't. He definitely shouldn't, he decides, when Ann accidentally attacks Jack's Lantern with fire, but instead of a small flash, it is a hungry jaw of a fiery storm so powerful that breaks through Shadows' resistance and leaves nothing in its wake.

Arsène has always been much stronger than the others. If his strength has increased as much, it may be for the best that he does not respond to insistent calls.

Akira barely has time to catch Ann before she sinks to the ground on wobbly legs. Akira doesn't know if it's shock or fear or even the same euphoria that often rolls on him when he unloads a particularly destructive attack, but Ann clings to the sleeves of his coat like a lifeline, trying to ease the whole-body shiver. Skull in there too, helping her to get back on feet: he throws cautious glances at the still remaining figure of Carmen, the weapon is not out of his hand for a second. It is wrong to feel such apprehension towards their Personas, but contrary to this belief Akira stops Morgana when the cat is about to call on Zorro's healing powers.

"We're done for today." 

"What? Dude, no, we didn't even find Nakanohara's Shadow!.." 

Skull is nervous too, only Joker is far more concerned about the members of his team and their safety rather than one pitiful stalker.

"We can come back for him any day of the week and any hour of the day. His Shadow's not going anywhere, is it?" He asks Morgana and gets a confident nod in reply. "Our first priority is our lives."

This, more than anything else, shuts Skull up and makes him shamefully put his head down. He curses under his nose, adds a quiet apology to Ann, and when he looks forward again, there is a mature finality to him that wasn't there before. "Yeah, you're right. Let's get out of here."

Morgana's ride is more controlled on their way out as if he was distracted by something before, and Joker eases himself behind the wheel with a relieved breath. Ann is sitting in the backseat, silent and hugging herself. Ryuji squirms for exactly half a minute, after which he lifts up his hand in an awkward inviting gesture. Anna sniffs but moves closer until she settles at his side. Physical contact seems to soothe her better than words, and while Ryuji is definitely embarrassed by their position, he doesn't show it by looking out the window at the monotonous tunnels.

Hand it to Ryuji to have a heart of gold when it counts. Ann knows it too. Akira swears to send a death glare at anyone who as much as thinks of his friend as a pervert again.

They get out of Mementos. Ann manages to stand on her own, though the tremors haven't gone away yet. She smiles at his inquisitive gaze and holds a tumb up. "I'm fine, really. Thanks."

"Uh-huh," Ryuji drags, tapping his shoe on the ground, "Yeah, right, whatever. C'mon, let's catch the train 'til its late."

"Huh?"

"Don' huh at me, I said I'm gonna walk you home. What, got problems with it?" Quieter, he adds. "'Sides, Akira guts me if I won't."

Akira really won't. Though he would have accompanied Ann home himself if he knew where she lived, he supposes while they are united by a very bizarre experience and count as friends, Ryuji knows Ann longer. Akira doesn't want to push it, and he is sure Ryuji mostly plays his reluctance up.

Ann's reliving smile speaks for itself.

Akira's half-expecting Morgana to jam in with an insistent matter about their next visit to Mementos. Instead, Morgana is pawing at his shoulder until he gains the courage to offer to keep Ann company. Ann needs a supporting company more than Akira, with how Carmen's attack afflicted her, and still, Akira is reluctant to part with his personal heater. Ann laughs at his sulky face and promises to return Morgana tomorrow morning.

"Akira, what about Arsene?" She asks him before they part, a not very subtle substitute for _we have a problem I know you won't address now for my sake but I am concerned for you,_ and Akira thinks she is the best of them, worrying for others more than for herself. He also notices Ryuji stiffened back, how his friend half-turns to hear an answer as well, and Morgana's perceptive eyes haven't left him for since they exited the station.

"I'll get to him." He promises. "...Carmen?"

"I don't think she's meant to harm me," Ann admits, clutching her bag's handlers, now with added bonus of Morgana inside. "She didn't, in fact. It just... Was too much, I guess?"

Akira nods. "Get some rest."

"And don't you think you can get away with staying up late while I'm gone!" Morgana holes as he is being carried away. Akira innocently blinks at him and gets an echo of an annoyed hiss.

Maybe Morgana already regrets leaving him on his own, but oh well. One sweet day of freedom sounds fantastic, even if caused by not very pleasant circumstances.

Akira, checking the time on his phone, expects to come to the cafe's locked door and plays with the key on the way there. What he doesn't expect is an unfamiliar figure at the entrance, vainly trying to look into the dark interior of the cafe through textured windows.

"Can I help you?" 

The stranger turns to him stiffly, as if caught red-handed, and oh, Akira's brain short-circles.

_We won't remember it, are we?_

"Oh, I apologize, I was simply puzzled that the café is closed." The stranger wears brown peacoat with black pristine buttons and distracting striped black and white tie underneath. His hands are clad into black leather gloves, holding onto a steel suitcase. "It is still working hours."

Akira swallows and hopes his voice doesn't sound hoarse. What is wrong with him all day? "Sojiro, I mean, Boss does it sometimes. Not many customers in the evening."

"Do you work here?" Akira can't keep up contact with those reddish-brown eyes, so he redirects his gaze elsewhere.

"Kind of."

"I see." The stranger smiles at him. Akira sees this man for the first time in his life and yet can claim with steel certainty, this smile is unsettlingly plastic. "I'll remember to come earlier."

Akira doesn't know what spurred him to say next. "I can brew you a cup if you want."

He doesn't know how to make coffee. Sojiro will probably kill him for the mere thought of touching the sacred coffee-making tools and throw him out on the street for trying to stand at the counter. Only Sojiro has already gone home, Akira is confident in his ability to bullshit people, and his hands itch to take on strangely familiar tools.

"Isn't it unwise to favor a stranger, moreso invite him in?"

"Are you?" Akira asks and internally cringes. "A stranger, I mean."

It puts their parody of a conversation on hold. The man regards him with scrutinizing attention and hums under his breath. "I wonder." He muses, closing eyes framed by brown locks. "I have certainly come here in a spur of a moment despite not frequenting the neighborhood too often. I admit, the place seems very peaceful and quiet, a pleasant change from my usual surroundings. Although I wouldn't go so far as to call my trip here purposeful."

Akira quickly translates it into _I see you for the first time in my life_ , and wonders why it couldn't be said so directly. "So, what about a cup?" He pushes on.

"Maybe another time." Just like that, he is waved off. "It was lovely to meet you."

The stranger doesn't linger afterward, giving another plastic smile before leaving, and Akira is left standing at the LeBlance's entrance all by his lonesome.

"Lovely?" He mouths to no one in particular.

What kind of words' choice is that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legitimately wrote ShiDo instead of ShiHo.  
> Glad I proof-read before posting, ha-ha.
> 
> ...Ha.  
> Did you know Goro used Loki in Q2 in the pre-final battle?  
> Well, I didn't know either.


	3. Crow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed. Gonna do so in the morning.

It’s started with a word “delinquent”.

No, if Goro to be honest, which in itself is a rare occurrence, it’s started with Sae Niijima, as all mostly unplanned things start in his life. The woman was acting a bit off, not to the point of affecting efficiency of her work, but clearly enough to slow her usual pace down. She isn’t prone to show her more, for the lack of better word, tender side to others, and Goro isn’t sure how he feels when she lowers her guard around him enough to let him notice. He is sharp, yet wouldn’t have noticed if she didn’t feel safe to bare her weakness.

Curious, he can’t help but ask.

“Is something the matter, Sae-san? You seem rather distracted lately.”

She flickers an amused look at him. “I don’t believe it is as bad as certain someone’s daydreaming. I remember not being able to get through to them for ten minutes straight.”

Goro sheepishly smiles, embarrassment is genuine, though he doesn’t appreciate to be called out like that. He has more on his plate to mull about, and rare occurrences of him being lost in thought are frankly inevitable and not that much problematic. Correcting Niijima, however, doesn’t ally with where he wants to direct the conversation. “Guilty as charged. Hope you won’t arrest your colleague? I’ll have to pledge you being as guilty as me. Though I wouldn’t call it daydreaming... Ah, my apologies. Perhaps I’m looking too deep into it.”

Goro waits for it. His bait works like a charm.

“No, you’re not wrong.” Sae exhales, putting her documents aside and leaning back on the stool. Goro quietly follows her example, since apparently whatever bothers Sae is not to be fit into two self explanatory words. “It is Makoto. I’m worried about her.”

Goro lifts his brow. “As far as I’m aware, she is an explanatory student and fairs quite well.” At least in her devotion towards studies. She lacks backbone completely, which is frankly pathetic and doesn’t warrant an ought of respect in his book, and would do anything what is told to her by basically any adult. Some would applaud such deep respect towards those who are older, but since Goro prefers to measure in experience, not age, he finds Makoto Niijima as a slightly sickening individual. Not that she bothers him much, considering they cross paths only at the cram school. It isn’t his obligation to point out how utterly disgusting some people are, though he admits there were moments when he wanted nothing more but to tell the girl what he truly does think of her. Her attitude isn’t helping the matters.

Goro keeps polite front out of respect for Sae. He doesn’t want to complicate their relationship by antagonizing her younger sister. It would be... unfavorable.

“She is. I’m very proud of her. But lately she seems to be spending more time outside of her school activities.” Sae looks uncomfortable with what she is about to say next. Still, it appears she trust him enough not to make fun of it, and please, he would never. “I think she’s seeing a boy.”

It isn’t what he’s expected her to share, since they doesn’t as a rule derail from work related stuff, and Goro at first is a bit at a loss of words. He’s crafted his facade carefully enough to include prepared answers on the chance someone, be it on a talk-show or at school, would address a similar topic, yet he hasn’t anticipate it’ll come in handy with Sae. Though he is less inclined to give her whatever rehearsed phrases he came up in front of the mirror, as illogical as it should be.

Still, he can’t force himself be concerned for Niijima Makoto’s personal life. Whoever she sees and spends her time with, he doesn’t give a damn, and he really would rather turn back to work than discuss it. Yet it would be inconvenient to cut conversation short, and Sae doesn’t deserve to be left hanging.

“Isn’t it common for the girls her age?” He settles on, as if they aren’t the same age. They don’t, not really, if he has anything to say about it. “If it doesn’t affect her academic performance, I highly doubt it’s a bad development for her.” He laughs airily and can’t help but subtly express his dislike for her. “Ha-ha, it almost like with my side responsibilities with the police force. A boyfriend surely can’t make the studies harder than they are.” And if he does, well... Goro would have one less little thing to worry about, namely stop repeatedly and purposely prove the girl she won’t ever be able to beat his top-notch performance on the mock exams.

Really, as if she’d ever had a chance to beat him. Though it is hilarious how she seems to take it as a personal challenge.

“But what if he isn’t a good person?” Sae frowns, and Goro is suddenly struck by how serious she treats such occurrence. What’s the big deal with it? The girl is a teenager, having a boyfriend is not something to be so worried about. “Or, a slacker? What if he is some sort of delinquent and uses her to boost his grades? I noticed Makoto spending more time over studies, as if her workload increased. Can she be doing his assignments? I should have checked.”

It must be a siblings thing. Clearly not something to be involved with. It reminds him of a numerous talk-shows he frequents, and he does not need it at his workplace. “I think you should let it slide. She is old enough to make her own decisions, isn’t she?”

And yet he doesn’t particularly like when people decide what is best for others.

“I want to be sure she doesn’t make wrong ones.”

Isn’t it a convenient substitute to basically admitting you want to control her life?

“I don’t think I’m qualified enough for an advice.” Goro smiles. In fact, he just gave one, and it was immediately turned down. He doesn’t see a point to give another, hollow one. He isn’t staying in front of the camera for starters, and he doesn’t really need to fake interest.

It should have ended at that, with Sae going back to her work, less distracted because of his crafty intervention, and him in a content sate of making it on her good side once again, thus empowering her trust in him. He believes it will come in handy one day, though even now it helps him eliminate possible suspicion. That way, she won’t ever consider him guilty in the cases they’re assigned to.

Yet despite his efforts, one sentence follows him for the rest of the day right into the next one, to the point where Sae, clearly amused by it, catches him off guard and teasingly asks who is indeed distracted more often than not.

And Goro for the love of him can’t figure out why does it bother him so much.

A delinquent, Niijima Sae has said.

It sticks like disgusting glue, creeps under his skin and stays there. It makes him nervous, it makes him annoyed, it makes him angry, he almost snaps at every person he has to speak with, biting on his tongue to stop the flurry of obscurants threatening to slide off it.

It is ridiculous and only becomes worse when he crosses paths with younger Niijima, and instead of minding his own business, chooses to follow her.

He doesn’t give a damn about Makoto, he’s sure of it. She can rot for all he cares, drown into whatever relationship she is involved in, be her theoretical boyfriend a delinquent or a pushover just like her. Yet he can’t get rid of the stupid feeling blooming in his chest, rooting there and suffocating him. The emotion is nothing pleasant, clouding his mind and making him grind his teeth ‘til it hurts. He is so engrossed, so obsessed with it, he sees Loki’s malevolent grin into his own reflections and squashes the obnoxious wish to simply find Niijima Makoto’s Shadow and squeeze the life out of it to vanquish those unexplainable sentiments.

He doesn’t, because it would upset - no, ruin - Sae, and he won’t inflict it on her, won’t doom her like that. He is better than this.

He is better, he is stronger, that’s why Goro swallows a lump in his throat and ghosts Makoto as if she is a clue to a especially tricky case. His eyes lock on everyone she meets with, as if he searches for someone in particular.

Not him. Goro breathes lighter every time she’s greeted by someone he doesn’t acknowledge. It appears Makoto doesn’t have much friends, or even usable connections, and most of her conversation’s partners are long by stepped into adulthood. And not him either.

Whom he expects to find, he hasn’t had the slightest idea. He just searches, meticulously, repeatedly. Goro spends perhaps a tad too much time on stalking her, yet no matter how often he tells himself to stop, he can’t. Whenever he sees her, he follows her. His rich experience into Metaverse allows it laughably easy, and even his famous image doesn’t stop him from successfully tail her for well over two weeks. Goro knows places she frequents, knows shops she prefers. It sickens him down to the pit of his stomach to collect information on her because why would he ever need it? And yet he persists, stubbornly.

Niijima Makoto doesn’t seem to be seeing someone, contrary to what Sae has implied. A delinquent, she has said. There isn’t anyone on Makoto’s short list of acquaintances who would have qualified as such.

The only place Goro doesn’t follow her is a church. Because really, who would have dated there?

A delinquent.

Fuck.

His schedule suffers more than ethically acceptable. He sleeps three hours instead of six, gets the shit for Shido done and doesn’t bat an eye at a sunny-bubbly cheery host on talk-show, winning her and his audience with a charming smile. He attends school and reports his homework to teachers. He does everything to clear the major part of the day during which Makoto Niijima is about to spend her time at the church.

When the moment comes, he arrives there earlier than she does and takes a place at the side-row, where he won’t be seen if not looked for. The view is shitty, the altar is too far for a proper prayer, which is fine by him. He patiently waits for Niijima to appear, head blissfully empty while the feeling in his chest wakes up and gnaws at him with unrelenting force.

The first bench row where an unfamiliar girl sits in solitude catches his eye. She isn’t whom he searches, not whom he relentlessly stalks as if a man possessed, but it is as if he should know her, and that place near her should be occupied by someone, someone who visits the church for the sole purpose of speaking with the aforementioned girl. He is always like that, isn’t he, a willing soul who lets others to find solace in him, and Goro grits his teeth because he can’t understand of whom he is thinking about, who is invading his minds as if belongs there. His mind that should only be set on one concrete thing, one goal he has devotedly followed. Now it is filled with blurry images he hasn’t been able to make head and tails about.

He blinks, and a mirage of black curly hair, a pair of insufferable fake glasses, sharp grey eyes hidden underneath shatters and instead there is Makoto Niijima sitting down on the bench near the unfamiliar girl with a sheepish smile and barely distinguishable apology for lateness. They speak, perhaps discuss something of fair importance for them to meet regularly where they can not be easily overheard, or such assumption may be overcomplicating the matter. Goro doesn’t care either way - he’s stopped listening. A numb feeling overcomes him, and he has sagged in his seat, breath uneven.

It isn’t him.

It isn’t him she is seeing.

Goro stumbles out of the church, careless of who could see him. He desperately needs to get out, to distance himself from the stifling building. He takes a big labored breath once he is outside, heartbeat wild and uneven. Over the rush of blood in his ears he can’t hear anything, and he looks at the street unseeing. He orders his body to calm down, he demands his mind to give him answers. All it does is spits gibberish he can’t help but listen to.

Has he done it? Has he followed through with it? Is that lingered touch all that is left to remember him by? No, no, these thoughts don’t make sense. Why is he so distressed? Why is he almost breaking down under the flood of emotions?

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It doesn’t matter at all, he insists to his ill mind, while his legs carry him through the crowds to the subway station. He boards the train he doesn’t frequent, exits in a place he visited only once or twice, strolls through the streets as if he knows the way as good as Mementos tunnels and stops only when he is greeted with a sight of a closed door.

Café LeBlanc, reads the sign. CLOSED, reads another.

Is he already late?

Goro tries to peek through the darkened windows against his better judgement and is caught unaware when someone addresses him. He plasters a smile and intends to smoothly apologize and leave as quickly as he can, because obviously it was foolish to come here.

His heart stops.

There, standing under the glow of evening’s windows and streetlights, is a boy roughly his age, and Goro can’t seem to find his tongue. Words spills out of his mouth, yet they do not belong to him. His Detective Prince persona takes completely over, giving generic answers he practiced so many times, while he wants nothing more but to scream himself raw.

When he gets home, he locks himself into the bathroom and glares at his reflection. His eyes are wild and confused and hurt and while it isn’t the first time he has to deal with such vivid onslaught of emotions, never before he struggled to understand from where do they come from.

Goro withstands them and finds piece in a tattered mind wreck. He won’t get lost in it. He is stronger than that, he has went through worse. Everything is maddening and ridiculous and he wants to traverse into Mementos and let all this anger and frustration out. Instead, he takes measured breaths and comes down from the high he was on from his church visit.

Goro doesn’t need those emotions, whatever they are. He needs to come back to that Café, preferably at working hours. Perhaps make a quick background check if his access would allow. Speak with that worked whom he’s crossed today, sweet-talk him a little, get whatever mix of emotions he experiences out of his system. Then forget about it and never bother again.

He breather lighter. Yes, that would work. That would burry insistent something in his chest and get over ‘delinquent’ plague he has to deal with.

He just needs to come back to that Café one more time.


	4. Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is tired to do what she is told to do.

Makoto is accustomed to make decisions based on her logic. She won’t call it absolute - she is not on her sister’s lever yet - but she came to expect certain order in what she does thanks to that. 

Of course, it has to completely go out of the window and die into a car-crash unremembered because Sae walked up into her room to borrow a brush and found something that even Makoto was not aware even existed. 

“Is this... a battle tactic against a dinosaur?”

Apparently, yes, it is. Sae looks like she stumbled on a goldmine that would help her progress on an especially tricky case, and Makoto does not appreciate the comparison because she should not evoke such parallels in her sister. There is a responsibility lifted on her shoulders and incriminating notes on ridiculous battle arrangements are not helping to carry it with dignity. 

Especially when Makoto can’t even remember when or how or for what reason she has written them. 

And she did, didn’t she, because the handwriting is unmistakably hers. As well as a general style of speech. She shuffles through a big pile - and it should have taken her days to fill them up with strategies, not to mention giving them a battle check to determine if they are as good as she gave them credit for - and realizes these are not only her handwriting or a style of speech, but thinking process as well. She can recognize herself in them, can see contemplating one move against the other, and she understands Sae is more likely to see it too. 

But not everything. 

All strategies should be impossible to recreate, probably written for some sort of game, yet there are incredibly detailed descriptions which couldn’t be confined by simple game mechanics. There are individuals notes on every team member, their strong and weak sides, as well as personality traits. A whole section written by someone else’s hand exists filled with a complete analysis of most likely responses from each of them to different situations on the field. Spells or attacks or... or whatever they are, honestly, with the strange names which Makoto has trouble spelling, they all do have pattern and are too well thought for something so mediocre as a game. 

Makoto knows herself. She knows she wouldn’t have bothered creating such complicated strategies for a common game. She is sure it wouldn’t have even required her to go that far. 

These? These are written with a real threat to human lives in mind. These are written to stay alive and win a battle with minimal losses because there isn’t a magical button that would help to simply restart whenever things go sore. 

Makoto traces it easily enough because she is the one who has supposedly written it, even if she can’t recall the process. She has no idea how to explain it to Sae though. Her sister looks at her expectantly as if Makoto has sinned and is about to be delivered into a trial court.

And it angers Makoto. 

“It is.” 

Because why exactly does she have to explain herself over it? So what if there are days of hard work invested in it? Why is she should feel guilty about it?

Makoto doesn’t exactly feel comfortable lying to Sae, yet she isn’t obliged to provide an explanation, is she?

Sae frowns. “If you have free time, why won’t you spent it on studying, instead of on this?”

It sends Makoto catering right back into guilt, and she is ashamed and embarrassed and voices chant in her head. How could you disappoint your sister. How dare you spend your precious time on petty games. You must do your best and prove your worth, mustn’t you. 

_Ah, so you are that kind of person. Never thought you to be such a pushover._

Didn’t she make him eat his words? 

_Ah, it is such a relief to have a good strategist on a battlefield. Perhaps I was too quick in my judgment before. Alas, would you mind if I assist you in this task?_

Yes, but he still manages to drive her up the wall once in a while. He is good at what he does, of course. She just wants to be better. To best him, so to speak. 

If Makoto only knew who “he” was.

Because his cutting words wrapped in a silky voice shake her out of her misery. 

“I keep up with my studies well enough, and I maintain my prime positions on the exams.” Makoto calmly reminds her sister. She refuses to stand any reprimands to her grades. They are exceptional, and she collects praises from her teachers as one would pick up groceries. There is one, just one person who could beat her in the cram school on every goddamn exam they take part in. She isn’t ashamed of her losses to him though. 

She just wants to best him. 

_...Him?_

Sae interrupts her. 

“You think it would be enough for your University exams? Do you think these distractions won’t go unnoticed? You think they won’t affect your performance when the time comes?” Sae mercilessly continues. “You’re naive, Makoto. We can’t afford to be sidetracked by anything, we...”

“I think it would be more than enough.” And that has to be it, right? Still, Makoto can’t believe she cuts her sister off. She can’t believe she can find it in herself to stand up, collect all papers overwritten with strategies and even outright snatch one from Sae’s very hand. Makoto battles off a strong desire to cave in and apologize immediately, because what is wrong with her, how can she so blatantly oppose her hardworking sister and create trouble for her, she mustn’t!..

Aren’t you tired of doing what others told you to do? Aren’t you tired to follow everyone’s expectations and lead your life by the book?

She is. She is so much is. She feels like she should have done it ages ago. Like she actually already did and simply forgotten. 

But then, considering what she holds in her hands, it won’t be that impossible, will it?

“First, I believe these activities greatly benefit me in the long run because they do require strategic thinking and you know I want to become a police officer in the future. Second, according to my cram school results, I can freely apply for an entrance exam into any Tokyo University and pass it without a notch. Third, I am sure you’ve heard of the incident with Shujin’s PE teacher, Suguru Kamoshida. And while I do understand your work requires your full attention, I would have been very grateful if you’d listen to what I was trying to say all these weeks at least once!”

Because really, Makoto tried! She isn’t blind. She saw how Kamoshida behaved. Now, when it was all over, she can even understand why no one came to her for help. They thought she was in the league with him, with other teachers. She wasn’t! Makoto wanted to ask her sister for help, for advice. She was reluctant to involve her directly, yet nothing prevented her from gaining some pointers or subtly inquiring a direction with how to defuse the situation. 

But Sae was always so tense. Their dinners together were rare and in-between, and Sae has always remained in an annoyed or brisk mood where asking about something so mundane seemed immature. 

Where did it lead them, Makoto bitterly thinks. With Suzui-san almost jumping to her death and a bunch of vigilantes blackmailing Kamoshida into a confession. 

She isn’t even mad at the rulebreakers. She doesn’t want to investigate them as she was ordered.

I should have been the one to do their work. 

Because, means unknown, they brought justice. Not the false one, the true one. They forced the sincere confession out of the _rapist_. They did more for the school that she has ever done. 

I am such a coward. 

Makoto isn’t even the one who was assaulted by Kamoshida. Perhaps he intentionally avoided her. He gave her unrequired praise when they crossed paths. 

Makoto rarely attended PE lessons because of her duties as a school representative. She never saw Kamoshida’s worst. 

...Except she did.

He captured her. Her and Noir. Almost killed them. He would have if not for... If not for...

“Makoto...” Sae speaks as if from far away. She caves slightly under Makoto’s outburst, movements losing usual confidence. “I would have never... You could have talked to me.”

Did she, now? It is foolish to rant her frustration by blaming Sae, Makoto understands. Sae didn’t know. Makoto hasn’t spoken. Yet believing those words is difficult, almost impossible. Where is the guaranty her sister wouldn’t have reprimanded her again? Wouldn’t have called her burden for bringing such matters onto the table?

Sae is always busy. Always consumed by work. When was the last time they went somewhere together?

“Makoto. Please, talk to me. What has happened with Suguru Kamoshida I am not aware of?” Sincere worry marvels Sae’s words. She comes closer and takes Makoto’s hand, and Makoto outright flinches. It stops Sae in her tracks. “Makoto?..”

Makoto can’t help it. Instead of her sister, she sees someone else. A woman clad in black, dress open and suggestive, cruel yellow eyes shimmering under the brim of her hat. The woman is not alone. There is a man beside her, one disgustingly similar to Kamoshida, the same yellow eyes staring her down. 

Makoto is at their mercy, and she can’t remember the names and faces of those who are supposed to stand beside her. Of those whom she scrupulously included in her strategies. 

Of those whom she is to call her friends. 

“I’m sorry, Sis.”

She runs. Sae is on her heels in seconds, but isn't fast enough. Makoto locks the door, stifling a broken sob once, twice, surrendering to the third and crumpling on the floor in a boneless limp. She tries to be quiet, she tries to swallow the sobs threatening to be overheard by her sister, yet she can't seem to seize control over her wrecked emotions. The sheets are scattered around, unfamiliar names glaring accusingly at her.

Skull, stood out on one. Joker, mocked from another. Panther, wallowed in cavity. Fox, taunted with fanciful handwriting. Mona, here and there and everywhere. Oracle, emitted importance. Crow, brought conflict.

Noir. 

_Haru_.

Makoto's breath hitches and she scrambles to her legs, searches for her phone. On the other side of the door, Sae does not relent. She does not shout as Makoto's muddled mind has expected, she speaks quietly, carefully collected, soothing. Almost gentle. Makoto wants nothing more than to press against the door and drown in comforting tenderness. And then the image of the woman in the hat comes crushing back, and she almost sags back on the carpet to sit and cry in strangling loneliness. 

Does she have a panic attack, some part of her wonders. Her hands shake, but she is coherent. She takes a breath, and her lungs take it. 

_It isn't here._

She can't find Haru's number. On her contact page, she can't find a dozen more phone numbers. Makoto's cheeks are dry and her eyes are not filled with tears. She takes a deep breath.

There are students' files on the table, but instead of looking for a familiar face among them, she listens to the hum in her head and closes her eyes. Blindly, her fingers find buttons, type a number known from her memories.

Saving the new contact under an unfamiliar name, Makoto takes another breath. She rises to her shaky legs. Before she opens the door to her sister, she stops by the mirror.

God, she looks awful.

* * *

The next day, Sae suddenly doesn't have to go to work early. Makoto feels guilty, but a strange relief outweighs the guilt, and instead of self-blame and reprimands, she obediently stops at the doorway when Sae asks her to wait.

An unexpected hug makes the blood run cold in her veins. Makoto trembles, suffocating with an inexplicable emotion until the image of the woman in the black dress shatters into pieces and she hugs her sister firmly in return. Her grip is full of unvoiced desperation, blind hope and heartbreaking sadness.

"I may not be the best sister in the world." Sae speaks quietly, as if afraid of her own words. She's never been so open, so vulnerable. Certainly not after their father died. "But I want you to know. I'm here. I'm always here for you."

Makoto wants to object. Those are my words! It's on her tongue. Instead, she tucks her nose harder into her sister's shoulder, barely suppressing the shudder.

"I'm sorry I always give you so much trouble."

The embrace tightens.

Maybe Sae has something else to say. No, Makoto knows she has. But perhaps it's too early for it, and one hug is already more than what Makoto has hoped for.

They used to live like two islands separated by an impassable ocean.

Now Makoto could see the other island where her sister stood firm.


End file.
